


we'll be royalty

by montecarlos



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Making Love, Mistaken Identity, Modern Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-24 18:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22362127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: Heavy is the head that wears the crown is a saying that is often bandied around, but Dani can relate to the words more than most. Since he was a young boy, he has always known that he has a duty to serve Spain, a duty of shackles that he cannot release.
Relationships: Jorge Lorenzo/Dani Pedrosa
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	we'll be royalty

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so basically, I love to write aus, and since I live in the UK and the royal family is a big mess at the moment, it got me thinking about a royalty au. I know that the ex-King of Spain was a huge motorcycle fan so I decided to make Dani and his family royalty and keep everyone else as they are. Title is from Conor Maynard - Royalty. I may write a sequel, who knows. I'm not 100% happy with it, but frankly, I am tired of looking at it so I am releasing it into the world. It's been a while since I wrote anything new so I hope you all enjoy! :)

Dani knew that something was going on from the expression on his father’s face as he entered his office. He clears his throat and watches his father’s hazel eyes flicker from the document he is signing to lock on his eldest son. “Ahh, Daniel, come and sit down,”   
  
Dani slides into the seat wordlessly, watching as his father slowly lowers his pen. “What did you need to talk to me about? You’re not abdicating are you?”   
  
Antonio shakes his head. “No, but I’m not getting any younger. I spoke with your mother, and we both agreed that it’s about time that you begin to take on more duties, in preparation-”   
  
“Why can’t Eric do it?”   
  
“Because Eric is not going to be _ king _ , Daniel. You are,”   
  
Dani bites down on the inside of his cheek. It’s always been a sore spot - he has grown up in the spotlight, in the shadow of his father and now, his younger brother who delights the crowds wherever he goes with a wide smile and his dashing good looks. Dani can’t help but think that Eric would make the better monarch. “So what do you have in mind?”   
  
“I want you to attend the MotoGP event on my behalf,” Antonio says quietly. “I think it’s important for you to start taking over, and I think you will enjoy it-”   
  
“No,” Dani shakes his head. “Why can’t Eric go instead?”   
  
“Daniel,” Antonio cuts his son off. “You have to stop running away from your duty. This is who you are supposed to be - one day, you will be King. It’s important for you to get out and show the country who you truly are,”

“So you’ve told me all my life,” Dani mutters. “I hardly think attending a motorcycle race and handing out a trophy to the winner is showing the country who I am, Father,”   
  
Antonio sighs heavily, pushing forward a newspaper. The front page bares his own aged face, with a screaming headline that declares:   
  
**_PedGOsa! King Antonio despairs over Prince Daniel_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Is the Prince of Asturias really ready to take over the top job?_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** “Half of our people don’t know what you look like, they are already questioning your ability to take over the crown, Daniel. We need the people’s support to ensure the survival of the monarchy,”   
  
“But Dad, you’re still young, I still have time-”   
  
Antonio cuts off his oldest son with a slam of his fist against his oak desk. “No, Daniel, I’m not getting any younger. It’s your duty to serve your country and your people. I am not going to change my mind on this. Starting now, you’re going to start doing the duty that you were born into. You will attend the MotoGP race on my behalf and that is final,”   
  
Dani nods once before he pushes back his chair, the sound of the wood scraping against the floorboards the only sound as he turns on his heel and leaves the office in silence.    
  


* * *

  
“Daniel,” A calm voice breaks through the silence and Dani lifts his gaze to meet his mother’s. She has always understood his struggle of being someone else, of being bound by duty from such a young age. Her hand clasps at his arm. “I do wish you would be more understanding,”   
  
“I need to be more understanding? He was the one who banned me from even competing in motorcycle tournaments when I was younger and now he wants to parade around on his behalf,”   
  
“Daniel,” Basilia says softly. “It’s not about rubbing your nose in it. We wanted to begin to give you more duties to prepare you for the future - I chose this one because I thought you would be comfortable amongst something you love,”   
  
Dani bites his lip. “I know, I just - I never wanted this life, I didn’t want to be followed around, shaking people’s hands and meeting people who only care about my title,”   
  
“I know,” Basilia rubs her son’s arm gently. “And I am sorry that it is all you have ever known. I knew what I was getting myself in for when I married your father - but you - I can remember the day you were born, and I held you in my arms and I wept because I knew what lay ahead,”   
  
Dani sighs softly. “I just want to be me, what’s so wrong with that?”   
  
“I know, my son,” Basilia whispers. “But the crown and duty comes first,”   
  
Dani barely feels the comforting brush of her hand against his arm as he wipes away the tears that he didn’t realise were falling. He doesn’t notice his mother’s sorrowful eyes as she stands up and disappears out of the room. The prince’s thoughts once more turn to the newspaper, to the accusations that snarl from the black and white print as he hurriedly wipes away his tears.    
  
“I am going to be me,” He murmurs to the room.    
  


* * *

  
It’s easy enough for Dani to slip out of the palace without arousing the suspicion of his bodyguards or any nosy courtiers who may be lingering outside his door. He feels a pang of guilt as he passes the closed door of his father’s office, the light still on despite the late hour but he presses on towards Juan, his driver’s quarters. Juan’s expression barely changes when Dani explains that he wants to be driven to Barcelona City Centre - he’s always had the same silent, non-judgemental temperament for which Dani is grateful - and he silently retrieves his keys and shoes without any complaint.    
  
“I’ll get the Mercedes Benz ready, Your Highness,” Juan begins, only for Dani to shake his head.    
  
“Do you think we could go in something a little less flashy and unrecognisable?” The prince asks, only to see the small smile that brushes against the older man’s lips.    
  
“Very well, Sir,” Juan nods once, not pressing the young prince. “I shall prepare the Lexus that your brother uses for his -  _ engagements, _ ”   
  
Dani can’t help the smile that brushes over his lips.   
  


* * *

  
Dani tries to ignore the rapid beat of his heart as he slides into the leather seat of the Lexus, watching the lights of the palace slowly begin to meld together as the car makes its way down the long winding driveway and past the large iron gates. He knows that his father will be angry - but until this point, he’s never put a foot wrong.    
  
Heavy is the head that wears the crown is a saying that is often bandied around, but Dani can relate to the words more than most. Since he was a young boy, he has always known that he has a duty to serve Spain, a duty of shackles that he cannot release. Eric plays his role as “the spare” to perfection - and Dani envies his younger brother for having the privilege of being born second. Royal duty and attention is something that comes naturally to Eric, able to make the press and public swoon with just one well-aimed smile or wave - his face is always splashed on the front of the newspapers. Dani, on the other hand, has always been stifled and has never felt truly at home in front of the flashing cameras, the spectre of the crown always on his shoulders.    
  
As the car draws nearer into the city centre, and Dani sees the crowds of people on the streets, he feels himself bristle. He’s reminded of the crowds that wait outside the palace for a glimpse of his father and his family, and he almost orders Juan to turn the car around and return. But he holds firm - thinks about the newspaper heading, about his father’s angry face - and the promise that he made to himself. He has to be himself, he has to break free at least once before the crown lands on his head. Dani knows that he has pushed the thought of his father stepping down from his duties and himself becoming head of a country to the back of his mind - but again, the thought resurfaces.    
  
He asks Juan to take him to the nearest nightclub, ignoring the smirk that appears on his driver’s face at the request.   
  


* * *

  
“Sir, we are here,” Juan says quietly. “When you need to be picked up, just give me a call,”   
  
Dani nods and thanks his driver as he exits the car, the booming sound of the bass immediately filling the air. The nightclub is busy - it’s to be expected for a Friday night, and Dani feels the curl of anxiety at the flashing lights, illuminating the crowds of people that swarm around the doorways. He can smell cigarettes, presumably from the people standing in the smoking area near the doorway, the quiet chatter between them barely audible over the music. It’s easy enough for the future heir to slip inside the entrance, his heart beating rapidly as he makes his way towards the bar. He glances around, almost expecting one of his father’s bodyguards to appear behind him, pulling him away and bundling him into the back of one of their cars. But it never happens. Dani slopes over to the bar and orders a glass of wine - it’s not the stuff that he is used to back at the palace, but it will do.    
  
He takes a sip of the wine and watches the people dancing, their faces masked by the flashing lights as the thump of the bass settles deep inside his chest. He isn’t sure what to do next - he knows that being here is breaking enough rules. He’s about to down the remainder of his wine and leave when a warm, firm body knocks in him. Dani bites back a gasp as the red wine sloshes down the front of his white shirt and he’s about to open his mouth, when he meets green-hazel eyes.   
  
“Shit, I’m sorry,” The man says, looking apologetic. There’s no recognition in his eyes, however, and Dani resists the urge to breathe a sigh of relief.    
  
Dani is silent, his eyes flickering between his now ruined shirt and the beautiful eyes of the stranger.    
  
“I’ll get you another drink, and I’ll pay your dry cleaning bill,” The man stutters out, looking forlorn.    
  
Dani decides it’s probably not the best idea to tell the man that the shirt he’s wearing is Alexander McQueen and it cost more than he cares to admit. “It’s okay,”   
  
Green eyes smirks at him. “At least let me get you a drink,”   
  
Dani finds himself nodding. He knows he should up and leave - but the tiny voice in the back of his mind, the one who told him to be himself tells him to stay. He watches as green eyes sidles back up to the bar and orders another large glass of red wine - the same brand that Dani was drinking, without even asking.    
  
The man hands him the glass, before picking up his own, filled with what appears to be vodka and coke. “So, aren’t you going to tell me your name?”   
  
Dani hesitates for a moment. He knows he should probably give a pseudonym, but the words fall from his lips before he can stop them. “I’m Dani,”   
  
“Jorge,” Green eyes replies with a smile. “So, Dani, do you live in Barcelona?”   
  
Dani worries his lip, trying not to think about the fact that he lives in the giant palace that overlooks the city. “Yeah, I do, how about you?”   
  
“No, I’m just here with work,” Jorge says, the smile still present on his lips as he sips from his glass. “I live in Switzerland, but I travel a lot with work - business trips, numbers, all that kinda stuff. What do you do for a living?”   
  
Dani hopes the expression on his face is not one of sheer panic. “I work in the palace,” He says quickly, his tone steady and even. “For the king,”   
  
Jorge raises an eyebrow. “Really? You work for King Antonio? What is he like?”   
  
“Strict,” Dani says, taking a sip of his wine. “I don’t get out much,”   
  
“That’s a shame,” Jorge says, the smile still dancing on his face. “Though it explains why someone as stunning as you hasn’t been snapped up by anyone,”   
  
Dani feels his cheeks turn pink.    
  


* * *

  
Dani isn’t sure how many glasses of wine he’s drunk over the last few hours - he wasn’t keeping track either, his attention taken up by Jorge and his green-hazel eyes. They have ended up in some cosy little booth away from the dancefloor and the banging bass music, Dani fighting the urge to rest his head against the taller man before he stops himself. Even through his drink-addled mind, Dani can’t help but think about how comfortable he is with Jorge. He has had to tell a few white lies (the Royal Family and scandal is something that goes hand in hand far too frequently), but the conversation is easy and smooth - they both share a few common interests such as motorbikes and travelling. It’s the first time in what feels like forever that Dani has being  _ himself, _ not having the title bestowed on him at birth thrust into his face.    
  
It feels  _ good _ .    
  
Jorge likes him as he is, plain old Dani, not Daniel, Prince of Asturias. Though Dani can’t help wondering if Jorge knew of his true identity, if he would treat him any differently - if he would run away, as most people do when they find out that he is part of the royal family, a future king -    
  
“Dani?” Jorge’s soft voice cuts through his thoughts and the booming music. “Are you okay?”   
  
Dani nods, a smirk brushing over his lips. “Never been better,” He drinks in the sight of the other man sat next to him, all mussed hair and pale skin, just someone normal who sees through to the core of who Dani is - he watches Jorge study him carefully, his tongue moving to dart over his lips and he decides to take the chance.    
  
He lurches forward, his lips immediately connecting with Jorge’s. He kissed people before, but never like this, never in a packed sweaty club, with his shirt still covered in red wine stains and a beautiful man moaning against his lips. Jorge tastes sweet, like the cola that he has been drinking, his hands moving to fist into Dani’s ruined shirt, pulling him closer -    
  
Jorge pulls away, his eyes wide and his lips swollen. “What about we get out of here?” He murmurs with a half smirk, a smirk that Dani knows all too well.    
  
Dani can only nod again as Jorge’s hand curls around his own, tugging him towards the exit. Dani prays that there are no paparazzi waiting outside - he knows that the nightclub attracts a number of famous people, his brother included, and with the MotoGP race in town, the number of celebrities and opportunities to be photographed has increased tenfold. Dani has not been photographed in public for a few years, but he’s certain that some of the more seasoned members of the press would be able to recognise him. He tries not to imagine the headlines in the newspaper, screaming about his sexuality and how the crown would be under threat. And he certainly doesn’t want to think about how his father would react to the news.    
  
But thankfully, there’s no cameras or paparazzi waiting outside as Jorge pulls Dani towards a sleek looking Mercedes, their hands still entwined together. “I haven’t drank anything other than coke all night,” Jorge offers up at the sight of Dani’s raised eyebrow. “I promise, I have work in the morning,”   
  
Dani accepts the answer and reluctantly pulls his hand away to slide into the passenger seat. “You work Sundays?” He asks, missing the brief expression of panic that flutters across Jorge’s face as he puts the car into gear.    
  
“Especially weekends,” Jorge forces out a smile. “Are you sure you want to come back to my hotel?”   
  
Dani thinks back to his father’s disappointed face, thinks about his duty tomorrow, about the fact that he will be thrust into the limelight that he has hated his entire life and smiles. “Yeah, I’m sure,”   
  


* * *

  
Dani wonders if he’s made the right decision when they finally get into the privacy of Jorge’s room and the taller man immediately cups his face, pulling him into a soft kiss. Dani feels himself melt against Jorge, his hands fisted in the lapels of Jorge’s presumably designer jacket as he feels long fingers fist into the hair at the nape of his neck - he can’t stop his mouth from opening in a soft gasp as Jorge’s tongue traces over the crease of his lips. Dani has been kissed before, he has had a few encounters at the parties that he has been to, but nothing can compare to this. He can feel the tug of warmth deep in his lower abdomen as Jorge deepens the kiss, his tongue slowly brushing over every crevice of Dani’s mouth. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Jorge murmurs against his lips, pulling back after what feels like a lifetime, his hand still pressed into Dani’s mussed, sweaty hair.    
  
Dani gazes at the taller man, his mind still blurry from the alcohol and Jorge’s kisses. “Bed, now,”   
  
The smirk that Dani has become so accustomed to spreads over Jorge’s lips and he slowly walks Dani backwards towards his enormous bed. Dani feels the yelp draw itself from his throat as he’s pressed into soft, white sheets as Jorge seals their lips together again, his hands moving to slowly ghost underneath Dani’s shirt, his fingertips cold against warm, tanned skin-    
  
“Fuck me,” Dani finds himself whispering against Jorge’s mouth, and the taller man’s fingers still against his skin.    
  
“Are you sure?”   
  
“Please,” Dani murmurs out, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Jorge’s lips. “ _ Please _ ,”   
  
Jorge smirks as he pushes Dani back into the warm sheets, his lips finding the young prince’s once more as his fingers slowly move back underneath Dani’s shirt, leaving heated trails across his skin. Dani gasps at the contact as Jorge’s lips move away from his own and dance down over his jawline, latching onto his neck where it’s certain he will leave an enormous bruise...but Dani doesn’t care, his mind clouded by alcohol and passion.    
  
“Jorge, please,” Dani begs again, and brown eyes meet green-hazel ones once again. “Fuck me,”   
  


* * *

  
A blaring phone pulls Dani out of his sleep the next morning. The prince gazes around the room in confusion, taking in the sight of the white walls and large mirrors that are unfamilar to him before he realises that he’s still in Jorge’s hotel room, having fallen asleep after they had finished having sex the previous night. But the bed is empty and the sheets obviously cold. Trying to ignore his racing thoughts and the tell-tale dull ache in his lower body, Dani picks up his phone from the bedside table.   
  
_7 missed call(s) from Papa._   
  
Dani curses under his breath, as the phone rings once more in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he lifts it to his ear and presses the accept button.   
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Daniel, where are you? Your bed has not been slept in and your mother is out of her mind with worry,”  
  
“Papa, I’m sorry-”  
  
“Juan said he took you out to a nightclub last night and you never called for a ride home. What are you playing at? I would expect this kind of behaviour from Eric, but not from you-”  
  
Dani pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to chase away the headache that he can feel coming on as he lets his father rant and rave, it’s easier to stay quiet than to argue incessantly with his father. But his attention is soon captured again by Antonio’s words.   
  
“And don’t think you’re getting out of representing me at the MotoGP race today. You’re going to hand over the winner’s trophy,”  
  
Dani feels the ice trickle down his spine. “W-what?”  
  
“You’re going to the MotoGP race today, Daniel. No ifs, no buts. Your mother and I have another commitment, but we will be here when you return home after the event this evening and we are going to have a long conversation about your attitude,”  
  
“Yes, Sir,” Dani says, sighing heavily as he hangs up, glancing around the empty room. “Jorge, are you here?”  
  
There is no answer.   
  
Dani reluctantly pulls himself away from the warm, comfortable sheets of the bed, and he spots the note neatly folded on Jorge’s pillow. He leans over and collects it, unfurling the paper and glancing over it, carefully. It’s short and hurried, with almost spider-like handwriting, smudged in places.   
  
_Dani -_ _  
__  
__I had to leave early for work. I am so sorry for not saying goodbye but you looked peaceful and I didn’t want to wake you. Last night was amazing and again, I apologise that I am not there._ _  
__  
__I hope to see you again sometime,_ _  
__  
__Jorge_  
  
Dani folds up the note with a heavy heart and places it into the pocket of his jeans. The words are careful and comforting, but he still feels a twinge of hurt deep down in his chest that he wasn’t enough for someone who was normal to stay with through until the morning.   
  
But he pushes it to one side, and immediately calls for Juan who answers in his typically professional tone and does not say a word when Dani asks him to pick up a fresh change of clothes.  
  


* * *

  
Dani resists the urge to sigh heavily, pasting on the ever present muted smile that he has perfected at the sight of the flashing cameras. The ride to the circuit had been interesting to say the least, with Juan remaining stoic and silent as the young prince had changed out of his wine-covered clothes of the night before and into one of his designer suits. He hated the things with a passion, but they were a staple of royal visits. A staple that was entirely cumbersome, Dani thought, as the baking hot sun beat down on the grid. 

He’s guided to the front grid where the riders sit on their bikes, looking focused - some wearing headphones, others sipping on their drinks bottle, all wearing their sponsor-covered gear and eyes covered by sunglasses. Dani is first introduced to the current champion Valentino Rossi, who clasps his hand with a warm smile.    
  
“Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure to meet you,”

Dani accepts the handshake and pastes on his own smile. “Likewise. I wish you luck for the race,”   
  
He feels all of the cameras go off at that moment, flashing and clicking, eager to document the shy and retiring prince meeting one of the most famous riders on the grid, and thankfully he’s ushered away by one of the Dorna aides towards the other Spanish riders. Marc Marquez greets him with a blinding smile, almost as blinding as the orange leathers covering his body.    
  
“Your Majesty,” He says, accepting Dani’s hand. “You are much smaller than I imagined-” He begins, only to realise what he has just said, his cheeks immediately turning pink. “I am so sorry-”   
  
“It’s okay,” Dani says with a chuckle. “I don’t get out much,”   
  
Marc smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his face. Dani is quickly escorted away, and is pulled away to meet Maverick Vinales. He never realised that there were so many Spanish riders, but it’s been years since he’s followed the sport. He pushed all mention of it away the day that his dad had made him give up his minibike and focus on the demands and needs of the throne.    
  
“Has His Majesty spoken to Lorenzo yet?” Another aide rushes up, looking harried.    
  
“He hasn’t got time,” The aide with Dani murmurs out. “Lorenzo wasn’t out on the grid when his Majesty was conducting his grid walk and you can’t expect him to walk back down to meet someone who was late-”   
  
Dani is about to open his mouth and say that he wouldn’t mind but he’s cut off by the aide turning to him. “It’s almost time for the race to begin, your Highness. If you would like to meet Lorenzo after the race, I am certain we can arrange something,”   
  
Dani nods and he is ushered away by the aides towards the pit building, where presumably an air conditioned room and a glass of champagne are waiting for him.    
  
He is right. He watches the action on track from the room, occasionally going out to the balcony overhanging the pits to get a better view as Rossi and Lorenzo battle one another for the top position. Dani pushes away the sensation of longing as he tries to focus on the race, trying to ignore the fact that if he wasn’t a member of the royal family, this is where he would want to be. Although he hates the pomp and ceremony of a royal visit, he feels at home amongst the motorhomes and the roar of the engines, the scent of oil and brake fluid hanging in the air.    
  
Dani closes his eyes as he hears the cheer from the Yamaha garage as Lorenzo wins the race.   
  


* * *

  
As soon as the race ends, Dani is immediately escorted towards the podium area to congratulate the winners and present the winner’s trophy but he is held up by Carmelo, who immediately greets him as an old friend. He asks about how his father is doing and how he is pleased that Dani is following in his footsteps as a fan of motorcycles. Dani smiles and laughs in all the right places, but is thankful for another of the Dorna aides interrupting their conversation to inform them that the riders are about to step out onto the podium and Dani’s presence is urgently needed.    
  
“No worries, I will escort his Highness to the podium,” Carmelo says, and before Dani can argue, the taller man sweeps Dani under his shoulder, continuing their conversation where they left off as they make their way towards the podium. He doesn’t stop until they reach the cool-down room, devoid of riders but the sight of crumpled up wet towels and tear-offs from their helmets is a clear sign that they were here. 

  
“They’re already out on the podium, your Highness,” Carmelo says, picking up the largest gold trophy. He hands it over to Dani carefully. “It’s strange not to be handing this to your father-”   
  
Dani gives the older man a weak smile and steps nearer to the door where he can hear the cheers of the crowd and the sheer wall of noise that seems to erupt from them. “Presenting the trophy for first place to Jorge Lorenzo, his Royal Highness Prince Daniel of Spain,”    
  
_ Jorge. _ Dani tries not to think about his Jorge, as he walks out to loud cheers, pasting on his widest smile as he focuses on not dropping the trophy. He moves towards the man standing on the top spot, only to freeze - because Jorge Lorenzo is  _ his _ Jorge, the man who he thought was an ordinary person, who knew Dani for just himself is standing on the podium before him, looking wide-eyed.    
  
“ _Dani_?” Jorge whispers in shock. “What are you doing here?”   
  



End file.
